Gemotions

The silence was the worst part. He stood on his porch, the familiar rumble of the neighborhood strangely absent. His truck was gone. A bright pink sticker, a garish announcement of his failure, clung stubbornly to the pavement.

He hadn’t realized how much he relied on the mechanical hum of the engine, the familiar thrum of the radio. He’d let the registration lapse, another item added to the long list of neglected responsibilities. He’d let everything lapse.

He went inside, each step leaden. He couldn't even bring himself to sit down. He paced the confines of his small apartment, the walls closing in, the emptiness of his own existence amplified by the space the truck had once occupied. He felt like he was suffocating.